


Mile High

by bergamot



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bickering, F/M, Happy Ending, Meet-Cute, Mile High Club, Sexual Tension, Some Descriptions of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-04-20 09:08:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4781759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bergamot/pseuds/bergamot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brienne is no good on airplanes. Turns out, Jaime is great.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brienne

Brienne clutched her navy tote bag with white-knuckled hands and stared at the monitor above the ticket desk.

_Flight 4076: King’s Landing_  
_Departs: 3:50 PM  
_ _Boarding in: 10 minutes_

She dug into the back pocket of her dark skinny jeans, searching frantically for the little slip of paper she’d held just seconds before. What in the seven bloody hells had she done with it!? Her jeans were empty. She tugged the bag up into her arms and swiped through the ephemera that had collected after waiting three hours in the Braavos International Airport – a granola bar wrapper, celebrity gossip rags, a tablet, a mobile reading device, a half-eaten bar of dark chocolate.

_Finally!_ Her fingers scrabbled against the cool, rustling sleekness of paper, and she pulled out the boarding pass. Only this one didn’t say anything about Flight 4076, only listed off a number of embarrassing items she’d purchased at the nearby concession stand in a fit of pre-flight anxiety. Did she really need the puffy neck pillow now clutched firmly beneath one arm? Or the extra pair of earbuds incase her own, perfectly serviceable pair failed mid-flight. Or _three_ granola bars? Probably not.

She really was a terrible flier.

Crumpling the receipt in her hand, Brienne resumed her search, only to be stopped mid-swipe by a deep voice just off to her right side.

“Brienne Tarth?”

She looked up. A godlike man stood just off to the side, peering quizzically at a boarding pass clutched between sculpted, golden fingers. _Her boarding pass._ Brienne swung her bag up onto her shoulder and squared her shoulders.

“Yes,” she said loudly, “I’m Brienne Tarth.”

The god took one glance at her and then quirked his mouth into something between a smirk and a leer. Brienne resisted the urge to scream; she’d seen that look a dozen times on a dozen different faces – usually male, usually attractive – and not once had she come away with her dignity in tact.

This particular face was slightly more than blindingly attractive, and Brienne would stand by her assessment of “godlike,” despite the fact that she now had to add “asshole” to the file, as well. He was her height, which was to say, strikingly tall, with long golden hair, a chiseled jaw dusted in a sandy five o’clock shadow, and green eyes that sparkled with mischief.

Trouble. That’s what this one was. Trouble.

Brienne schooled her features into the familiar scowl that had men like him scrambling away in no time. She stepped forward, ignoring his broad shoulders and well-tailored grey suit. He wore a dark blue tie the same color as her tote, and it set off his tan astonishingly well.

_Shut up, Tarth!_ Gods she was a wreck at the airport.

The man was still watching her with an amused expression, the boarding pass now pressed close to his chest, as if he didn’t quite believe her and needed to check some identification first.

“You’re Brienne Tarth?” He asked. He flicked his eyes up and down her body, taking in her sensible nude flats, long, jean-covered legs, white button down, and – horrifyingly – the lurid pink neck pillow tucked under her elbow.

He raised his eyebrows. “To be honest,” he said, “I almost didn’t believe you were a woman, but the pillow gives it away.”

Brienne huffed in annoyance and readjusted her bag. “It was the only color they had!”

The man laughed, a beautiful, musical sound that anyone else would have found charming but Brienne only found infuriating. She glanced at the monitor above the ticketing desk.

_Boarding in: 1 minute_

“Look,” she said, “can I have my ticket back? We’re about to begin boarding and I’d rather get this gods-forsaken flight over with if it’s all the same to you.”

He held her ticket out to her and Brienne snatched it back, scanning to make sure it was, indeed, her boarding pass. She glanced up at him and mumbled a gruff ‘thank you.’ She was being rude, and she hated to be rude, but she couldn’t help herself. The airport brought out the worst in her.

The god looked like he wanted to say something else, but a woman’s overly-friendly voice filled the intercom and drowned out whatever he was about to say to her.

“Welcome to Flight 4076 to King’s Landing. We will begin boarding by welcoming our VIPs, Gold Members, and any military members currently flying with us today. Please make your way to the First Class line at this time.”

“Well,” said the god, picking up a sleek black briefcase Brienne hadn’t noticed resting by his ankles, “that’s my cue.”

 He nodded to her once and then pushed through the crowd to hand a similar boarding pass to the ticketing agent. Brienne scowled as the agent simpered at the man and took his ticket, no doubt heart a-flutter at the prospect of serving such an _attractive_ customer. Of course he was VIB First Class Gold. She watched the woman titter as the man said something conspiratorially in her ear.

Brienne had learned long ago that sometimes the world just wasn’t fair.

*

Fifteen minutes later, Brienne’s shoulder was a knotted mass of angry muscle, and she was tired of waiting in line for what seemed like a hundred people to board the plane before her. Really, she thought it was better to get a seat up front in Coach, but now she realized that she was an idiot for 1) not anticipating that everyone else in the back of the plane would board before her and 2) being too polite to push to the front of the line when her seat section was finally announced.

Brienne nodded and waved her hand at an elderly couple who wobbled on ahead of her with nods of thanks. It was the fifth couple she had allowed ahead of her, but then what could she do? There were a large number of older, infirm, and young families traveling on this flight. She wondered what that said about the airline. Surely they must have a reputation for safe flying if so many vulnerable travelers chose to fly with them? Or perhaps they, like Brienne, were just cheap.

Finally, it was Brienne’s turn to board. She handed her boarding pass to the ticket agent – a young woman with long brown hair and a pretty, pert mouth the size and shape of a rosebud. The agent swiped her pass and the computer beeped; her face lit up like fireworks had just gone off.

“Oh,” she exclaimed. “Congratulations, Ms. Tarth, it looks like you’ve been upgraded to First Class!”

 Brienne frowned at the computer screen, but the woman blocked her view with her arm. “I don’t see how that’s possible,” Brienne muttered.

 The agent smiled indulgently and waved at the empty waiting area behind them. Brienne glanced back, surprised to see that she was the last person to board, thanks to her chivalry.

“That can happen sometimes,” replied the agent happily. “We get a last minute cancellation and suddenly you get bumped up.”

Brienne resisted the urge to roll her eyes as the woman bounced at the term ‘bumped up.’ She should be happy to be bumped up to First Class. First Class meant better seats and better food and safer seat belts. No one would look at her funny in First Class when she popped a Vicodin and slugged back a plastic cup of rosé; wealthy women traveled like that all the time in the movies.

Brienne smiled at the ticketing agent and headed for the doorway. “Thank you,” she said. “I really appreciate it. Which seat am I in?”

“Oh,” the agent exclaimed again. “Seat 4A! I think you’ll _really_ enjoy your flight with us today.”

*

Brienne was still puzzling over the woman’s parting wink as she ducked onto the plane. A stewardess with long red hair and a lilting Northern accent welcomed her aboard. Brienne nodded and turned into the First Class section counting the rows. _One, two, three –_

“Brienne Tarth!”

She blinked. It was the god. Seated happily next to the window. In her seat.

She looked up at the row numbers again, and then at the letters that indicated each seat. “A.” Window.

“You’re in my seat,” she said.

The man glanced at his ticket, grinning. “Seat 4B. A window seat, if I’m not mistaken. 

Brienne ground her teeth. “You are mistaken. B is an aisle seat; A is a window seat.” She gestured to the signage just above her head, jabbing her finger against the thick plastic for emphasis. “It says so right here.”

His grin widened, and it dawned on Brienne that every frustrated look, every irritated growl she made only fed his desire to rile her up more. His next words, then, surprised her.

“You’re absolutely right, A, my mistake.” 

She blinked at the moniker – did he just call her “A”? – but was momentarily distracted when he stood suddenly and stepped out into the aisle next to her. She could smell his expensive cologne and feel the heat coming off of his body. He smelled of pine and citrus. Something musky too. Sandalwood, maybe?

Gods, he was much too close for comfort!

Brienne muttered a quick ‘thank you’ and shoved into the seat he had just vacated. She tucked her boarding pass into her tote and pushed the bag beneath the seat in front of her, as the man took the seat next to her.

First Class really was more spacious than coach. There was enough leg room here that her knees just barely brushed the seat in front of her; in Coach, they would have been knocking into the next person’s seat, no doubt making them think an obnoxious child had been sat behind them and was now kicking their chair. 

Unfortunately, First Class was still on an airplane, and that meant that Brienne’s arm was a finger’s width away from the man’s own; the scent of his cologne and his body heat flooding her senses once again. Her hand shot up and she adjusted the vent above their heads, suddenly blasting her short blonde hair with a cool jet of recycled air. She grappled with the seat belt, trying to locate the two errant halves. Finally succeeding, she snapped herself into place and tugged the belt until was tight against her waist. She fidgeted against the seat and then checked the window to ensure there was a blind she could draw down once they were ready to take off. 

She was just about to readjust the air when she felt his eyes boring into her skull once more. Brienne settled her hands in her lap, trying not to twist her fingers about, and looked over at him.

“What?”

“Can I ask you a question, A?”

“My name isn’t ‘A’, it’s Brienne. As you well know.”

“Can I ask you a question, _A_?”

“Gods, yes, _what_? What is it? What do you want?”

He was possibly the most irritating creature she’d ever had the misfortune of encountering. If she ever saw that ticket agent again, she would tear the pretty girl’s pretty hair right out.

“Are you afraid of flying?”

Brienne closed her eyes. Dear gods. She would kill this man.


	2. Jaime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flight 4076 takes off. Jaime makes his introduction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Thank you everyone for reading and for the kudos and comments! You all are the best :)

The woman was an absolute mess. Jaime watched her from the corner of his eye as she readjusted her seatbelt for the third time. She gawked at the flight attendants pacing back and forth down the center aisle, flinching every time an overhead compartment slammed shut. When the pilot made a brief appearance up front, she sat up straight in her seat, as if he would call her out for slouching on his plane. If she reached for the damn air vent again, Jaime _would_ physically restrain her, so help him Father.

It hadn’t been his choice to single her out the first time around. She’d dropped her boarding pass just outside their gate, and Jaime truly had no idea who “Brienne Tarth” was when he’d called out her name, thinking only to do his good deed for the day. He certainly hadn’t expected this bumbling Amazon to step forward. But step forward she had, all coiled anxiety and indignation. How could Jaime resist?

The second time it _had_ been his choice to single her out. The ticketing agent, Margaery, wasn’t even interested in the hundred Dragon bill he’d slipped her. Of course, women often weren’t – Lannister good looks went far in buying off Lannister debts. Margaery was more than happy to partake in a bit of mischief, tossing her hair and winking at him when she caught sight of the towering towhead across the gate. Pocketing the Dragon (money was money, after all) with a subtle flick of her wrist, she turned and entered two quick keystrokes into the computer.

Truth be told, Jaime was bored. He refused to take the Lannister family jet on principle alone; it was bad enough he was in Braavos doing his father’s dirty work. The last thing he wanted was to be ferried around in some kind of rich man’s chariot. He’d opted for the drudgery of civilian transport, First Class that it was. Sometimes, if he ignored the attention his name and his face drew, he could almost pretend to be someone interesting. Someone worth something more than his family legacy.

_Legacy._ Gods, he hated that word.

All legacy got him was a seat at the Lannister Corp board table and twice-yearly trips to Braavos to shake hands with the Chairman of the Iron Bank. The fact was, Jaime was a glorified errand boy – making one rich man feel important and valued after the other. But they didn’t need him for that. A blow up doll from Pentos would have done the job just as well. Jaime carried a briefcase, but the damned thing was empty save for a tablet and an outdated iPod that held his collection of classic Northern rock and exotic Essosian folk music. He had a Master’s in Economics, and a job title to match, but the last time he’d been engaged in a work meeting was… Well, he couldn’t even remember. If that didn’t say something about his miserable life, he didn’t know what would. 

Brienne Tarth had been the first interesting thing he’d encountered all day. The fact that she was obviously petrified of flying only made her more fascinating.

Jaime leaned toward her, his shoulder bumping up against her own. Brienne stilled. 

“Tell me something, A,” he said, enjoying the rosy flush that edged along her collarbones and up her neck. “How is such a magnificent, statuesque woman such as yourself terrified of something so prosaic as… sailing through the air at an unnatural, death-defying height in a vacuum-sealed metal tube?” 

Brienne frowned at the nickname and positively scowled at the use of “magnificent” and “statuesque.” Jaime would have been happy to argue the point with her, but to be honest, she was also clumsy, awkward, and unconventional-looking. He didn’t think she’d welcome any one of those descriptors with open arms.

“My name,” she growled, “is Brienne. Not. ‘A.’”

 “Brienne,” he purred, rolling her name around in his mouth like a marble. Her blush deepened.

He leaned back, studying her in the mix of late afternoon sun that filtered in through the windows. She had a strong jaw and a generous mouth. Her nose had clearly been broken at least once, and she had a small scar on her cheek, as if someone had taken a bite out of her a long time ago. Jaime wanted to run his fingers over it and feel the delicate, distorted texture. Brienne squirmed under his gaze, a bar of sunlight flashing against her cheek and illuminating a bright, sapphire eye.

She really did have astonishing eyes.

Overhead, the florescent lights of the plane dimmed as it started to taxi down the runway. Jaime had completely missed the safety demonstration, too wrapped up in studying his seatmate. Over the intercom, the pilot requested the flight attendants take their seats and prepare for take-off. He didn’t even catch the flight attendants’ names – the pretty redheaded woman and a young man with curling black hair and a sour expression.

“I didn’t even catch their names, A,” he said.

Brienne looked confused. “Whose?”

“The flight attendants. We missed their safety demonstration.” He smirked at her. “If the plane falls into the ocean, I suppose I’ll just have to use you for a flotation device. Your shoulders are certainly broad enough.”

Brienne rolled her eyes and pulled the safety pamphlet from the seat in front of her. She shoved it into his hands. “Not interested.”

Jaime raised an eyebrow at that and pretended to peruse the pamphlet.

 “Yet,” he murmured, grinning when she let out an indignant cough.

The intercom chimed and the seatbelt sign flicked on. Jaime glanced out the window. The runway rushed past as the plane picked up speed, centrifugal force already pushing him gently back against his seat.  To Jaime, there was no greater feeling than the moment a plan lifted off the tarmac and into the air. The rush of sudden weightlessness – half a second, at best, was addictive, like pushing his F-Type past 200 on the Kingsroad or looking down at King’s Landing from the Lannister Corp’s 71st floor.

The wheels screeched their goodbye to the tarmac and he sighed. For a brief, immeasurable moment, he felt free. 

Beside him, Brienne had her eyes squeezed shut. Her hands were, once again, clutched tightly around the boxy metal clasp of her seatbelt, scrabbling back and forth along the smooth, steel edge. As the plane lifted off and they fell back against their seats, Jaime reached over and pressed his left hand against her trembling fingers. Brienne’s eyes snapped open, and suddenly Jaime was drowning in a sea of blue.  

*

By the time they were in the air, Braavos falling away below them until the Titan looked like one of his nephew’s toy soldiers, Jaime had removed his hand and Brienne had gone back to praying to whichever gods it was she prayed to. Her cheeks were blotchy and she refused to make eye contact. Frankly, Jaime was fine with that. The clarity of her wide eyes and the feel of her long, cool fingers beneath his own had unnerved him. They’d stared at each other far too long for propriety, and when Jaime’s eyes unwittingly broke free to dart down to her broad lips, Brienne turned beet red and pulled her hands out of his grasp.

He had a sudden urge to assure her that he wasn’t the type to just grab random women on airplanes. (He definitely wasn’t the type to solicit free upgrades because he liked a woman’s fighting stance.) But there were good looks and there were Lannister good looks, and people had been pegging Jaime wrong his entire life. If it wasn’t his name that got him in trouble, then it was his pretty face or his wallet or his wit. Lannister legacy, indeed. The honest truth was that Jaime had only been with one woman over the course of his forty-plus years, but he didn’t think Brienne would appreciate hearing about _that_.

He certainty didn’t want to think about it. _Pathetic._  

Slowly, the plane evened out and the air pressure in the cabin softened. The lights came back up, and Jaime noticed the other passengers in First Class shifting around in their seats impatiently. Beverages were always served up front first, and no doubt more than one traveler was yearning for the first drink of a very long flight. The plane passed through a series of cinereal clouds that flashed lavender and dove grey. With a shudder of turbulence, it crested over the cloud bank, shaking and jolting them twice more.

Jaime could feel anxiety bloom in the seat next to him, but he kept his eyes forward and his hands to himself. She was none of his business. 

As the plane reached its cruising altitude, there was a double chime and the seatbelt sign winked off.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” sulked the male flight attendant over the intercom, “the Captain has turned off the seatbelt sign and you are now free to move about the cabin. However, we ask that you keep your seatbelt fastened while you remain seated. You may not use electronic devices at this time.”

There was a pause and the redhead came on, her voice high and slightly agitated. “Please excuse my partner. Her knows nothing. You _may_ use electronic devices at this time; instructions for accessing Wi-Fi are located in the pamphlets at the back of each seat.”

 Jaime had half a mind to reach for the iPod in his briefcase and drown out the rest of the trip with music, but there was nothing relaxing about the guitar riffs of Northern rock bands, and Essosian folk would only remind him of his recent business trip. His seatmate made no move to reach for a device or reading material either; she was staring straight ahead, studiously trying to ignore the hazy blue sky out her window and, as much as he hated to admit it, probably Jaime, too.

Attempting to put her at ease, Jaime cleared his throat and stuck out his right hand in front of her. She glanced at it, doing a double-take when she noticed the scar tissue that stretched from the base of his thumb twisting up his wrist and beneath his shirt cuff. Most people shied away from his hand, thinking the shiny, folded skin repugnant (“grotesque” was the term he remembered best), but Brienne simply reached out and offered her own.

“I know your name,” he said, appreciating the way her fingers slid over the sensitive scar tissue almost as much as he appreciated her steady gaze that never once flicked down to study it, “but you don’t know mine.”

“Yes,” she said slowly, as if dazed. “Brienne Tarth.”

Then she blinked and turned a stunning shade of crimson. He smirked, shaking her hand.  

“Jaime,” he announced, “my name is Jaime Lannister.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would pay good money to sit next to Jaime Lannister on a plane. Who's with me?


	3. Brienne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne encounter turbulence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone, who continues to read and leave comments!

_Let go. Gods, woman! Lest the Seven strike you now. Let. Go._

Brienne couldn’t. She was trapped. Trapped by Jaime Lannister’s hand – warm and soft and every other pleasant adjective her mind was too preoccupied to conjure – and his eyes. _Gods._ His eyes were sharp shards of a beer bottle smashed against a curb. They were sunlit trees with storm clouds just beyond. They were a promise and a warning, a siren blaring in the dark.

Her own hand was clammy. She could feel moisture clinging to the ridges in her palm. She’d already broken into a cold sweat upon liftoff, too distracted by Jaime’s comments about the flight attendants to remember to close the window screen. It was bad enough she could feel the dampness spreading beneath her arms (and she desperately hoped he couldn’t tell). Now, thanks to his cursed hand and the teasing quirk of his mouth, she had progressed to a full-body flush. Her face was burning, the air was too close and confined, and Seven save her, but she could. Not. Move.

She silently willed Jaime to release her. But there was something odd in his expression, as if he was actually considering closing the distance between them instead. The idea only made her heart pound harder. The threat of this man’s lips on hers was the _last_ thing Brienne needed right now. Right now, she needed a paper bag to hyperventilate into, followed quickly by a soothing cup of hot tea. She needed her father to rub circles on her back and tell her everything was going to be okay. She needed off this _wretched plane_!

With a surge of willpower that surprised even herself, she muttered a strangled, “Pleased to meet you,” and tugged her hand from his grasp. The vent above was already on full blast, and she turned her face toward it gratefully. The air was stuffy and nothing like a fresh breeze, but in that moment, it was the single most refreshing thing Brienne had ever felt. She ran her fingers through her hair and concentrated on taking deep breaths.

After several seconds of silence, she flicked her eyes over at Jaime Lannister. He was glaring at his right hand, as if agitated to find it empty. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” announced the female flight attendant over the intercom, “we will begin drink service in just a moment. You’ll find a list of drink and meal options in the pamphlet in each seat pocket.”

The intercom clicked off and the dark-haired male attendant suddenly appeared, wheeling a stout trolley down the First Class aisle. Instead of doling out tiny packets of bland snack mix, he swung between the seats, passing out plastic flutes of champagne. When he reached their row, Jaime held up his hand.

 “We’ll need something a bit stronger than that,” he said. “Why don’t you bring us two vodka tonics instead?"

The young man frowned and Brienne saw that he had a name tag pinned to his smart, white polo. _Jon Snow: Flying for 2 years._ She reached her long arm in front of Jaime’s face and took the champagne that Jon held out awkwardly before them. “Thank you, but champagne will be just fine.”

Jaime rolled his eyes at her and then winked at Jon. “Ignore A,” he said, “She’s just stubborn. Two vodkas, if you please.” Brienne shot him an exasperated look. “Oh fine,” he exclaimed, “They’re both for me!”

Jon mumbled something about “rich men” and “bold,” and shuffled away.

*

In the moments after Jon left them, Brienne occupied herself with her champagne and the blank, eggshell view of her window screen. She pulled down the tray table and considered the chocolate bar in her tote bag, while Jaime made a show of retrieving his briefcase from the overhead bin. She would have sworn that he deliberately placed his firm bottom directly in her line of sight; she tired not to stare.

Jaime pulled out a battered old iPod the size of a cassette player and sat down again. He glanced at her, and his mouth pulled up in one corner. “Tell me about yourself, A.”

“Well,” She replied, annoyed, “my name is Brienne, for one, not ‘A.’”

He grinned and watched her take a sip of champagne. “And two?”

“I – I don’t have a second,” she said. It was true; she couldn’t think of a thing to tell him. The thought was depressing. She led a quiet life designing houses for Stark Architecture. She went to the gym after work and ate dinner alone in her one-bedroom condo. Occasionally, she would go for drinks with Sansa, the eldest Stark daughter, but she never stayed out long. “I’m actually quite boring.”

Jaime laughed at that. “So, we can add ‘liar’ to the Who-is-Brienne-Tarth list, can we?” 

She frowned. “I’m no liar.”

“Honorable, too,” he continued, now making gestures in the air as if he had a checklist in front of him and was dutifully checking off her personality traits. He turned and scrutinized her, his iPod forgotten on his lap. “Trustworthy, naïve, taciturn, Amazonian… a virgin?”

She sputtered. “I hardly think that’s appropriate to ask someone you’ve only just met!”

Jaime looked contrite. “You’re right, that was crude of me. _Are_ you seeing anyone? Someone special back in King’s Landing? A man? A woman?”

“That’s also none of your business,” she squawked. Brienne couldn’t tell if he was flirting with her or mocking her, but either way it made the blood rise straight to ears.

She peeked around at the other passengers in First Class. An elderly couple sat in front of them – a gentleman with silver hair and a bald spot, and a woman who was so short that Brienne only knew she was there from the occasional, tittering laugh that emanated from her seat. Across the aisle, a slim man with dark hair was necking with a beautiful, doe-eyed woman. They were all well into their champagne and didn’t seem to be bothered by the sudden pitch in Brienne’s voice. She tucked her head down to her chest as Jon Snow passed by, wheeling the service cart back toward the front of the plane.

“No,” she snapped at Jaime, her voice low. “I don’t have a _man_ waiting for me back in King’s Landing. I quite like it that way.”

“I thought we agreed to strike ‘liar’ from the list, A?”

Brienne blushed. She didn’t care what Jaime Lannister thought of her, she really didn’t. But she hated that he was right. There had been men. Well. One man. And really ‘man’ was a generous term to call someone like Hyle Hunt – a college bro if there ever was one.

Jaime clucked his tongue at her. “So there was a someone. What happened? Not strong enough for you?” He leaned in with the charming smile of a snake. “I’m strong enough.”

Brienne resisted the urge to punch him. Her stomach churned to remember the bet, her track and field teammates, Hyle’s laughing face, Coach Tarly yelling at her with spittle on his lips. She reached for her half-empty champagne flute with shaking hands. Her friends had tried to sooth her, thinking Brienne and Hyle had just broken up. She didn’t dare tell them the truth. Two years on and well out of university, she still kept that secret tucked close to her heart.

She was saved by the arrival of Jon Snow holding two clear plastic cups. “Your vodkas, sir.”

Jaime gave a smart nod and took them from him. “Thank you, Jon. I don’t suppose you have a fan for my friend here? She seems to be experiencing a hot flash of some sort.”

Jon stared dumbly back at them until Jaime waved him away. He turned back to Brienne. “Now, where were we?”

“You really are an ass, you know.”

Jaime put his cup into the air. “Well, I’ll drink to that, A.”

*

Minutes later, she was still seething. _Insufferable man!_ She cast her eyes over at Jaime. He was flicking through his iPod, headphones dangling uselessly in his scarred right hand. He had attempted to engage her in more of his galling banter, but she’d refused to acknowledge him, propping her pink neck pillow up against the side of the plane and staring morosely at the bald spot on the gentleman’s head in front of her.

Jaime continued to shoot her exasperated looks. Finally, he picked up one of the vodka tonics and placed it on her open tray table. A peace offering, she supposed. She ignored it.

“I know who you are,” she said finally.

Jaime smiled indulgently at her. “Yes, I believe we were introduced not long ago.”

She shook her head, hating the way he made her feel so dull and stupid. She wanted to crawl into one of the overhead compartments and hide. Jaime wouldn’t let her, she knew. He would drag her out and shove her down the aisle to face her shame. She almost admired him the audacity to move through life so unfettered and uncaring of what others thought. But if he could make her feel exposed, then so could she.

“You’re Jaime Lannister of KLU fame.”

Brienne had been intrigued to find half his hand wrapped in a scar, but her stomach dropped when she finally made the connection between the gorgeous man and his infamous last name. Jaime narrowed his eyes, clearly not liking the new turn in their conversation.

“I admit my reputation around King’s Landing does precede me,” he said, an edge to his voice. “I didn’t take you for the kind of woman to buy into those vulgar sorority rumors, though. You strike me as much too innocent for that kind of girl talk.”

Brienne gritted her teeth. “I don’t mean the rumors about how you get around,” she hissed. “I mean Aerys Targaryen and the KLU Knights. You did play for them, didn’t you?”

Jaime’s vodka tonic was all but forgotten on the tray before him. He leaned menacingly toward her. “What would you know about Aerys Targaryen? You were a sniveling babe when Aerys led the Knights.”

Brienne lifted her chin at that. “I’m old enough,” she said. “I ran track and field at KLU. It’s the first locker room story they tell new Freshmen – Aerys Targaryen and the Knight who blew him up. The _Kingslayer_.”

To her surprise, Jaime barked a mirthless laugh and leaned back in his seat to give her a mock bow. “Finally, a title to make my father proud.”


	4. Jaime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime tells Brienne his secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter is long overdue! Thanks to everyone who is still reading! Hope you enjoy this latest update. I promise the next one won't take quite as long ;)

Jaime flexed his fists, his headphones writhing beneath his fingertips. He’d expected her to accuse him of whoring around King’s Landing. Or, at the least, lay down his father’s crimes before his feet. A Lannister was a Lannister after all, and Tywin was the worst of them. But she’d brought up football and the Knights, and Jaime’s world tipped.

_Kingslayer._ He hadn’t heard that name in a long time. No one at Lannister Corp would dare speak it in his presence, not if they wanted to keep their jobs. His father had made it clear in a series of memos that he would fire any employee found gossiping on the spot. No wonder everyone hated Tywin Lannister; he took the fun out of everything.

Even with his father’s moratorium on gossip, Jaime knew that people whispered behind his back. He couldn’t blame them. _Aerys Targaryen and the Knight who blew him up._ It was a good story, better still because everyone liked to see a wealthy family brought low by scandal.

Brienne was watching Jaime, waiting for a reaction. He grinned and gave her a little bow instead. “Finally,” he said, “a title to make my father proud.”

Her pale brows rose in surprise. “Is that all you have to say? Your coach benched you, so you put him in a wheelchair! You destroyed his career!”

“Oh, don't stop there," said Jaime, feeling his face flush in irritation. “I set the locker rooms on fire, too, if you remember. Took out half the gym. They rebuilt it with Lannister money and slapped my grandfather's name on it — the Tytos Memorial Gymnasium. Nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

Brienne looked horrified, two blotches of angry red appearing on her cheeks. Jaime relished the small victory. _Now what do you have to say to that, A?_

“Gods,” she breathed. “You really are a monster.”

A stab of disappointment flared in Jaime’s gut. He tried not to think of the scar on Brienne’s cheek or how innocent she'd looked waiting at the gate. At the end of the day, people were all the same.

Jaime untangled his headphones and shoved them into his ears. “A lion does not concern himself with the opinions of sheep,” he huffed, just loud enough for her to hear.

*

Ygritte took his dinner order halfway through the Bloody Mummer's rendition of "Baby in a Trebuchet." The meal was a choice between Dothraki horse kebabs with wild rice and apple pudding, and roast beef au jus with green beans and chocolate cake. Brienne turned her nose up at the horse kebabs and opted for the safe Westerosi dish. Jaime wasn’t particularly fond of horse himself — too chewy, but he ordered the kebabs just to see Brienne grimace.

She’d been tossing him looks for the better part of an hour, biting her lip every time she looked over at him. She was dying to say something, he could tell. It was eating at her honorable core. Jaime felt a bit of vindictive pleasure that she felt so tormented after throwing Aerys in his face.

Ygritte delivered their meals with a cheeky grin. Jaime made a show of peeling the foil off the steaming plastic tray and taking a whiff of the spicy meat. It looked disgusting; it was grey with red and green peppers stuck between each chunk of meat. Airplane food was airplane food; even a dish steeped in tradition couldn’t change that. Jaime pushed the tray away and focused on his apple pudding instead. 

Brienne hunched over her food in an obvious attempt to ignore him, but she'd hardly fared better. She abandoned her roast beef after a few bites in favor of a granola bar and half-eaten bar of chocolate from her bag. She looked about as miserable as Jaime felt, but at least she had chocolate. When Ygritte came back down the aisle to collect their trash, Jaime pushed his half-consumed meal at her and ordered another vodka tonic.

*

Brienne tucked her pink neck pillow behind her head and closed her eyes. Jaime nursed the last dregs of his drink, watching her out of the corner of his eye. Her mouth was a grim line. Pale lashes fanned out against a cheek stippled with freckles. She was young, no older than twenty-five he'd guess. What did she know about the unfairness of the world?

Jaime pressed his headphones back into his ears, but he didn’t put the music back on. He ran his fingertips along the scarred ridges of his right hand and shut his eyes. They were at least three hours out from King’s Landing. Maybe he could get some sleep.

Beside him, Brienne shifted, her elbow knocking against his. “Sorry,” she murmured, her voice muffled through his headphones.

Jaime tugged them off. Brienne faced away from him, her head pressed against the shuttered window. He couldn’t explain the sudden itch to have her look at him, but it was a maddening need that pinched down his back. 

Against his better judgement, he leaned toward her. “Do you want to know the truth about what happened that night?"

Brienne’s head snapped up, and he leaned back. “Aerys used to lure female students into his office after our games," he said. "We all knew it, but we kept our mouths shut because he was the King.” 

Brienne bit her lip. Jaime cleared his throat and looked away. He fidgeted with his headphones, fingers tightening on the wires. 

"I caught him with my step-sister the night of the fire. Forgot my cleats under one of the benches,” he explained. “The locker room was dark, but Aerys’ office wasn’t. There were candles on his desk, and he had Cersei up against the wall. His hands were in her hair and she was crying. I didn’t think, I just grabbed him from behind and threw him.”

Jaime could still hear their voices echoing against the tile walls — Cersei screaming, Aerys yelling. The crunch of bones breaking as Aerys hit the desk. Cersei’s footsteps as she ran. And Jaime’s arm burning, _burning_ , as he pulled Aerys’ limp body away from the flames.

Jaime laughed, a humorless, pitiful thing. He looked over at Brienne. “What kind of man lights candles in his office?”

“Jaime —”

“Don’t worry,” he said roughly, shaking off the memories like ash. “I dragged him to safety. I’m not as big a monster as that.”

Officials concluded that the fire was a freak accident and the fight a case of poor sportsmanship. Coach Targaryen had benched Jaime earlier that night, and the Knight hadn’t taken it well. They kicked Jaime out of school a week later. His father sent him to the family seat at Casterly Rock to recover, his arm in a splint and his hand bandaged and raw. Aerys hadn’t fared so well. Now he lived in a long-term rehabilitation center somewhere in the Crownlands, paralyzed from the neck down.

And Cersei… Well, Cersei didn’t talk about it anymore. She didn’t talk to Jaime anymore, either.

“Why didn’t you tell someone the truth?” Brienne pulled the neck pillow into her lap and kneaded it with her hands. “Why didn’t your step-sister?”

Jaime shrugged. “What would it matter? None of the other girls ever came forward. No one wants to save a Lannister, you know. We’re rich, spoiled, ruthless. That’s what _you_ believe, same as everyone else. Besides, my father wasn’t about to miss an opportunity to finally trap me in the family business.”

His father had wasted no time in making new arrangements for Jaime’s life. He enrolled in Lannisport College two days after arriving at Casterly Rock. “You’ll keep your head down and finish your Bachelor’s at Lannisport,” Tywin instructed. “Then an MBA at Braavos to round out your education.” There would be an executive job at Lannister Corp upon graduation, and no one would speak about the Targaryen mess again.

“You could have told him no,” said Brienne.

"No one refuses Tywin Lannister,” Jaime scoffed, “not even his kids. Football was the closest I ever came to it. Even then, we all knew I’d end up at Lannister Corp some day.”

Brienne frowned and gestured at the First Class passengers around them. “Maybe you’ve just gotten comfortable.”

Jaime laughed. “Comfort is the freedom to choose your own path, Brienne, and I’ve never had a chance at that.”

*

Jaime left Brienne glowering at the neck pillow in her lap. He stood and headed for the lavatories at the front of the darkened plane. Jon Snow was leaning against the coffee maker, whispering with Ygritte. The redhead made a crude gesture, and Jon Snow blushed. Jaime pulled open a lavatory door and stepped inside.

His heart was pounding. He hadn’t meant to tell Brienne about that night. He’d meant to grab her attention, provoke her into talking to him again. He didn’t want to talk about his father or Cersei or Aerys Targaryen. He hadn’t meant to tell her how trapped he felt at Lannister Corp, how every day was mind-numbing monotony. But there was something in her expression that made him want to confess  everything.

Brienne asked him about his childhood, and he’d told her about growing up with Tyrion and Cersei. The games they used to play — knights in shining armor and lions of the Rock. Brienne confessed that she, too, had always dreamed of being a knight — the armored kind _and_ the KLU kind. Neither one surprised Jaime. She would have made been a fearsome warrior, and gods knew she had the legs of an athlete.

Jaime left out his relationship with Cersei; it was too much, too soon. Instead, he told her about his dreams back then of playing for one of the national teams. He told her that even now, he dreamt about leaving Lannister Corp and starting his own business. The idea was disturbing. What would he be without Lannister money behind his name? Brienne whispered that maybe he should believe in himself a little bit more. And, like an idiot, he’d replied that maybe she should grow up.

Jamie ran his hands under the tap and splashed his face with cool water. He tried not to think about how she bit her lip and looked away at that. She hadn’t spoken to him since. Jaime spent the next twenty minutes trying to come up with increasingly ridiculous confessions to draw her back out.

He tugged a paper towel free from the dispenser next to the sink and pressed it against his flushed skin. He needed to get a grip. He couldn’t just upend his life because some young woman had made an impression on him. She was a stranger on a plane; something to amuse him between Braavos and King’s Landing. He didn’t know what it was about her that had him spilling his secrets, but he wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Jamie shoved the damp towel into the bin beneath the counter. He would return to his seat, get some shut-eye, and hopefully leave Brienne Tarth alone for the rest of the damned flight.

Feeling more like himself, Jaime snapped the lock back and pushed the lavatory door open. He stopped abruptly, surprised to see Brienne waiting on the other side. Her blue eyes were wide, that familiar bottom lip trapped between her teeth again. There were two lavatories up front; the other one must be full, too. They stared at each other a moment longer. Brienne made to step back, but Jaime lurched forward and grabbed her wrist, dragging her into the small space with him. She gave a little gasp, and he snapped the lock in place.

_Occupied._


	5. Brienne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime traps Brienne in the lavatory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oy, holidaze, amiright?
> 
> Thank you all who commented on Chapter 4! My reaction to all of your reactions was pretty much, "Bwahahaha!" I loved all of your comments, and I love all of you who are still reading! 
> 
> Now, on with the torture! :D

She hadn’t meant to corner him in the lavatory. She’d just needed a moment alone to think. The other stall was occupied, and Brienne had turned away to head back to her seat when a door flew open and there was Jaime. His hair was pushed back from his face, his nostrils flared, and he had a look in his eyes—as if he’d just faced down a bear. He’d looked surprised to see her for about a second, and then his expression turned dark. He’d grasped her wrist and pulled her with him back into the tiny bathroom stall. The feel of his hands on her her arms, her shoulders, her neck, sent her head spinning. It was a full minute of skin and heat and the overwhelming scent of him before she realized where they were and what he’d done.

She was pressed up against him in the tiny airplane lavatory. The space was big enough for a single, normal-sized person, but Jaime and Brienne were both well over six feet tall. Neither one had room enough to move. Her legs were tangled up in his, their thighs crushed together. His breath huffed against her face, warm and boozy. If she turned even a half inch to her right, their hips would be… He shifted and her breasts brushed against the solid, pectoral muscles beneath his button-up. Brienne’s breath stuttered to a halt. She tried pull away and give them both some space. Her back met the cool, hard surface of the lavatory door instead.

“What are you doing?” She hissed in frustration.

“I have no idea,” Jaime whispered. His fingertips grazed the delicate skin just below her hairline. Brienne closed her eyes at his touch. “Something stupid, I think.”

A flash of anger surged through her like a bolt of lightning. Brienne opened her eyes and pulled her head back. Jaime was staring at her lips, his eyes hooded. She was close enough to count his eyelashes. Close enough to kiss him.

_Gods, was she leaning in!?_

She shoved against him with her shoulders and hips, trying to ignore the delicious feel of him. Trying not imagine the weight of him on top of her, the heat, the frantic, pounding—

“Oof!” Jaime’s head hit the opposite wall with a muffled thump and he cursed. “What in the bloody hell are you doing, A?”

Brienne was panting. Gods, how embarrassing. She was panting and still partially pressed against him, imagining him in far fewer clothes and doing things to her that even Hyle hadn’t had the guts to try. His right hip bone pressed firmly against her stomach. There was heat building there, but she ignored it.

_Something stupid,_ he’d said. Of course it was stupid. Men like him didn’t do things like that with women like Brienne.

She suddenly felt claustrophobic. She needed to get out of here. Whose absurd idea was it to seek peace in an airplane lavatory, anyway? Couldn’t anyone find some bloody solitude on this gods-forsaken death trap?

“I should ask you the same,” she snarled, trying to pull at the collar of her shirt. More than anything, Brienne needed air.

Jaime’s warm hand against hers stilled her agitated movements. He raised both hands in front of him, as if signaling surrender. As if she were some timid animal that would flee at the first sign of danger. Brienne wanted to laugh. She was no craven. She’d leave that to Lannister.

_No_ , that was wrong. She knew him now… Well, knew him a little better, anyway. Jaime wasn’t craven—he wasn’t a depraved man. He’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or maybe he’d been in the _right_ place at the _right_ time. Brienne felt an aching pang at the thought of Coach Targaryen and those young women. How many had it been? How long had the school covered up the man’s transgressions? She remembered Jaime’s face as he recalled the fire in the locker room. He hadn’t met her eyes as he’d told her the story. But he was staring at her now.

Brienne shook her head. She couldn’t think straight in this cramped space. Her thoughts were jumbled and frantic. _Get it together, Tarth! You’re better this!_

Jaime moved toward her, his hands still raised. “Look,” he said, “I don’t know what I was thinking. Just that I _wasn’t_ thinking.”

Brienne watched him with a steady gaze. “I didn’t come after you,” she said defiantly.

He lifted one eyebrow. “I didn’t think you had.”

“I hardly know you.”

Jaime pursed his lips at that. “I think you might know me better than most, A.”

Before Brienne could puzzle out a response, the plane buckled beneath them in a sudden jolt of turbulence. Brienne grasped the wet counter for purchase and pushed herself up against the door, panic rising in her chest. The plane shuddered a second time. Jaime pitched forward and fell against her. Brienne grabbed his waist to steady them both. She waited, her throat tight. The plane leveled out, but neither of them moved.

“Gods,” Jaime breathed, just above her ear. “Are you alright?”

Brienne nodded, and Jaime ducked his head. She felt his warm exhalation graze her cheek. He was closer to her than he’d ever been before, one hand pressed against the lavatory door, the other on her neck again. She could count his golden eyelashes one by one if she wanted to.

She dropped her hands from his waist. Jaime looked up, his green eyes bright. A flush stole across his face, and she knew it matched her own. Brienne bit her lip, and Jaime groaned.

“You have to stop doing that,” he said.

“Doing what?”

“Biting your lip,” he growled. “Like this.”

He imitated her, clutching his bottom lip between his teeth. He looked up at her through his lashes. The gesture was seductive and shy at the same time. That couldn’t possibly be what Brienne looked like when she did it. _No one_ could look as good as Jaime did biting his lip like that. It sent a thrill running from between her legs to her breasts and back again. 

Jaime watched her expectantly.

_Oh Gods, what are we doing?_

Brienne was suddenly very aware that, despite the enclosed space, they were _not_ alone. They were on an airplane; an airplane full of people.

“I—I don’t know what you mean,” Brienne stuttered. Her hand scrabbled on the door behind her, trying to find the lock. She had never been in an airplane bathroom with another person before. What if the flight attendants could hear them talking and bumping around? What if there was another passenger waiting on the other side of the door? She would be mortified if anyone found them!

“You do,” said Jaime. “Your face is all lit up just thinking about it. You bite your lip when you’re nervous. It drives me crazy when you do that.”

“Why?” Brienne was trying to buy herself time. She’d found the latch, but it wouldn’t budge. Her arm was tilted at the wrong angle.

“Because,” said Jaime, leaning toward her, “you don’t strike me as the kind of woman who should be afraid of anything.”

The bolt snapped out of the lock at the exact moment that Jaime pressed his mouth to hers. There was a brief, beautiful second when time hung suspended. All Brienne could feel was the press of his soft, warm lips against hers—more tender and hesitant than she could have ever imagined. A brief second when his hands ran from her neck down her arms and captured her hips. Drew them into him until she was pressed firmly against his abdomen. Until she could _feel_ his interest in her, hot and hard.

_So, this_ is _real_ , a part of her breathed.

What kind of man _was_ Jaime Lannister, exactly? The type to seduce a stranger on a plane? The type to whisper secrets to a woman he’d never met before? The type to find an affinity in the least-expected person on board? No, that last type was Brienne. There was no doubting the surge of energy that shot through her at Jaime’s kiss—something like coming home and flying and fighting dragons all at once. He was still kissing her, and yet she already missed the feel of him. How was that possible?

Before Brienne could break away from Jaime to ask, the door banged open behind them. Jaime and Brienne tumbled into the hallway, crashed into the opposite wall, and landed in a heap on the floor of the plane.


	6. Jaime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ygritte gets her revenge.

She was warm and strong under his hands. He pulled her closer, pressing his lips against hers. The feel of her sent him soaring. Even Cersei didn’t feel this good. Gods, how was that even possible? The lavatory door banged open behind them, and Jaime was flying!

No. Wait. That wasn’t right. He was falling! _They_ were falling!

Together, Jaime and Brienne tumbled into the hallway, crashed into the opposite wall, and landed in a heap on the floor of the plane. The redheaded flight attendant shrieked in surprise and jumped back against the brooding attendant, Jon Snow. Jaime groaned in pain. Brienne was lying on top of him, her elbow digging into his side, her head on his chest. He had one arm still wrapped around her waist, and their legs were twisted together in a helpless tangle.

Ygritte shoved Jon aside. “Here, now, what do you think you’re doing? Bathrooms are for one person at a time!”

She reached out a hand to Brienne, who took it tentatively, and hauled her up. Brienne’s face was a blaze of blotchy red. Her eyes were trained on the corridor carpet, as if to look anywhere else would end in a swift and painful death. Jaime gulped. He could feel his own face heating. It took a lot to make Jaime Lannister squirm, but even he didn’t like the fact that twenty pairs of eyes were currently trained on him.

One by one, passengers popped their heads over the tops of seats or peered out into the corridor, trying to get a look at what had caused the commotion. Several people had even stood up, alarmed looks painted across their faces. Airplane security was a big deal in Westeros. Jaime was sure that those alarmed passengers would soon turn into an angry airline mob if he didn’t hurry Brienne back to their seats as quickly as possible.

He waved away Jon Snow’s paltry attempt to help him up, and nudged Brienne’s elbow. She jerked away, and Jaime sighed. “Back to your seat, A,” he whispered, “before we get into real trouble.”

Brienne, if possible, colored even more. She twisted her hands before her, mumbled something that sounded almost like an intelligible apology to the flight attendants, and shuffled back down the cabin.

Jaime brushed his hands on his pants, and flicked his head back. He leveled a haughty glance at Jon Snow and then gave Ygritte a dazzling grin. “So sorry about that,” he drawled. “Please, don’t let us keep you from the next drink service.”

Ygritte drew back, a shocked expression waging war with an equally piqued smile. “Ho, now, aren’t you cheeky! Don’t think we don’t know what you were doing in there, all bumpin’ around and tumblin’ out like a pair of fighting badgers!”

Jaime shrugged apologetically. “I’m sure we caused no damage. I do promise it won’t happen again.”

Ygritte looked like she wanted to say more, but Jon Snow touched her elbow. She clamped her mouth shut and glared at Jaime. “Southerners,” she spat.

Jaime raised his eyebrows at her and then made a deep, mocking bow. He winked at Jon as he straightened up and then turned on his heel, heading back to his seat. If he didn’t know any better, those two looked just as flushed and bothered as Jaime and Brienne probably did. He wondered, briefly, what it was flight attendants got up to in between drinks and food services.

*

He found Brienne hunched over in her seat with her hand pressed up against her face. She was leaning against the side of the airplane again, hoping, probably, that the window would give way and suck her out into space.

Jaime took the seat beside her and watched her from the corner of his eye. Truth be told, he was equally mortified. Gods only knew what he’d been thinking, tugging her into the lavatory like that. He hadn’t made out with a woman since—well it had been ages ago. He didn’t want to think about the last time, much preferring the image of Brienne that came to mind, her lips soft and her breath sweet. He tried to recall the little sound she’d made when he pressed her against the door, right before the whole thing had gone south.

Someone nudged his left arm, and Jaime looked over. It was the dark-haired man from one row back. He had rich olive skin and was wearing a well-cut suit in charcoal.

“Oberyn Martell,” he said, offering Jaime his hand. Jaime shook it hesitantly and the man continued, “No need to introduce yourself, for we are already well-acquainted with the Lannister looks.”

An elegant woman leaned in next to Oberyn. Her silk blouse was open down to her sternum, her hair twisted and tangled in a way that, Jaime was sure, had been styled to suggest she’d just rolled out of a very comfortable bed. She brushed her hand along Oberyn’s arm and purred, “Ellaria.”

Jaime took this to be the woman’s name and nodded at her by way of greeting. “And what can I do for you, Mr. Martell?”

Oberyn smirked. “We couldn’t help but overhear—”

“ _See_ , darling,” Ellaria interrupted. “We couldn’t help but _see_ them.”

Oberyn smiled indulgently at her and turned back to Jaime. “My paramour and I could not help but see you and your lady friend emerge from the lavatory. It was quite something.”

Jaime drew his hand back. “Yes,” he said brusquely, “and we’ve already made our apologies to the officials. Now, if you would, please, I believe a drinks service will start shortly.”

“No, no,” Oberyn murmured, “you misunderstand. We do not wish to chide you for such behavior. Only to make you an offer. We are gold members of Braavosi Airlines. The lounge is open to us twenty-four-seven, and, I assure you, their private rooms are quite elegant. We only thought, perhaps, you and your lover would like to join us.”

“If you are not making connecting flights, of course,” purred Ellaria.

Jaime could only stare at them. He was saved having to come up with an answer to their ridiculous proposition when Brienne lunged over his arm. “We are not lovers!” She exclaimed indignantly “And even if we were, we would _not_ take up with two strangers in an airport!”

It was the loudest Jaime had heard her voice yet, and he gaped at her sudden bellicosity. Across the aisle, Oberyn glanced at Ellaria and then _tsked_ his disappointment.

“That is not what it looked like to us, darling,” Ellaria smiled.

Brienne glared and made to stand up, but Jaime pulled her back down into her seat. 

“You’ll have to excuse her,” he said. “It’s been a humiliating few hours for A, and I’m sure she doesn’t mean to offend.”

“Do. Not. Call. Me. A!”

Their conversation was interrupted by the swift arrival of Ygritte. She drew up in the same authoritative manner Jaime’s own father often adopted just before he was about to launch into a long-winded lecture. Jaime smiled placatingly up at her and then pressed Brienne back into her seat. Oberyn and Ellaria withdrew out of the aisle, their heads pressed together in quiet conference.

“Alright, _alright_ ,” Jaime whispered to Brienne, watching Ygritte stride back in the direction of the service area. “I’m sorry I called you A.” She opened her mouth, but Jaime barreled on, “Brienne, your name is Brienne.”

She sat back, clearly disgusted by the whole afternoon. Jaime let out a long, gusty sigh. “As if I could forget you now,” he murmured.

The corner of Brienne’s mouth twitched but she didn’t give any other indication she had heard him.

Jaime sat back in his seat and clasped his seatbelt around his waist. Better not to give Ygritte another reason to scold them.

A sudden image of kissing Brienne flashed through his mind, and he glanced over at her quickly. She was staring blankly at the window covering, her mouth drawn down in a frown. Jaime had never been good at wooing women. The fact was, he’d never had to try. His relationship with Cersei had burst into existence the way a tree grew from a seedling—naturally, and without prompting. After Cersei… well, there’d been no one after Cersei. Jaime wasn’t exactly sure what it was about Brienne that changed that, but the thought of kissing her, arguing with her, the fire he felt when he was around her, was something that felt as natural as Cersei had been. He wasn’t sure he wished to examine those feelings closer; the last time he'd felt like this had ended horribly.

He fidgeted in his seat, tugging his seatbelt tighter and then pulling it loose again. If he could only get Brienne to talk, perhaps they could figure this out, or better yet pick up where they had parted. He shook his head, wracked with indecision. What an idiot he was.

* 

Several minutes passed in which Ygritte did, in a very professional and not-at-all harried voice, announce that the last drinks service of the night would be coming through the cabin. Brienne stayed turned to the wall, looking for all the world like a stone statue. Jaime tried to order them both waters when Ygritte pushed the trolley by, but she ignored pointedly him. Punishment, he assumed.

Bored at being ignored and itching to explore what had happened in the lavatory, Jaime leaned over to Brienne and nudged her shoulder gently. When she only flinched, he whispered, “I’m sorry, Brienne, I truly am.”

Her eyes were closed but he saw her squeeze them tighter together. “Don’t,” she muttered. “Just don’t.”

Jaime ignored her. “It was wrong of me to take advantage of you like that. A gentleman would have asked for your phone number first, taken you out for dinner.” He paused. “Does a meal on the plane count?”

Unfolding herself slowly, Brienne cast a look at him over her shoulder. But where Jaime expected to see the hint of a begrudging smile, he saw only immense sadness instead. Brienne’s eyes were full of pain, and to Jaime’s horror, they were welling with tears. Before he could move to comfort her, she closed her eyes again. She pressed her face into her arm, wiped her eyes against the sleeve of her white button-down, and then looked up at him.

“Don’t you dare mock me.”

Jaime drew back. “Mock you? I’m laughing with you. At the absurdity of it.”

Brienne shook her head and looked away from him. “Yes,” she whispered, “it must be absurd.”

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?” Asked Jaime.

Brienne waved her hand dismissively between the two of them. “As you’ve said.”

Jaime gritted his teeth. She was deliberately misinterpreting him. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

She looked over at him. “What did you mean, Jaime? What did you mean by tugging me into the lavatory with you? By doing—what—what you did with me? It was a good joke! You might as well laugh!”

Jaime felt his chest grow tight in anger. She was the most frustrating, obstinate, pig-headed woman he'd ever met!

“What are you talking about? You think that’s the kind of joke I’d find funny?”

She shrugged. “Plenty of men have.”

“Brienne,” Jaime growled, “if you think _that’s_ what I’d intended by pulling you into that lavatory, let’s get up right now and I’ll show you what I really wanted.”

Brienne looked back at him with fire in her eyes. “You’re just like all the rest.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back but I'm not back? It's hiatus, and I'm bored. Take it and run, my JB loving friends!


	7. Brienne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne dreams of flaming airplanes and sweeter things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who is still is reading! I apologize for not replying to comments on Chapter 6, but I do appreciate each and every one of you who takes time to leave a note! Happy reading :)

Brienne was not a religious person, but in that moment, she prayed to the Seven that the plane would rip in half and suck her into space. The scene replayed in her head like a bad film: Crashing into the corridor, the flight attendants shrieking, the entire plane craning their necks to get a view of the big, ugly woman on top of the impossibly beautiful man. 

Brienne had kept her head down for the next hour, refusing to make eye contact with even Jaime. _Especially_ Jaime.

Even now, she could hear the quiet conference taking place across the aisle and feel the appraising eyes of Oberyn Martell on her neck. _Lovers_ , he had called them. As if such a possibility in the world could exist. Even Jaime had called the idea absurd.

Brienne had heard those words plenty times in her life. But hearing it from Jaime’s lips—lips that had pressed against her own just moments before—flooded her mouth with bitter disappointment.

The world was a cruel place. The least it could do was play into her worst nightmare and most fervent wish. Unfortunately—and despite what her brain had been trying to convince her of for the past several hours—planes were modern-built machines. These newer models rarely burst apart in mid-air. Brienne snapped the window cover up, but the sky outside was inky and her own face stared back at her in the glass. No sign of flaming engines, then.

Brienne tried to calculate the odds that this plane, _her plane_ , might be one of the few to suffer engine damage or some sort of electronic malfunction that would set the cockpit aflame. She barely registered how her hand gripped the armrest with white knuckles, or how Jaime noticed and covered it with his own. If it hadn’t been for the way the light caught the smooth skin of his scared flesh, Brienne might have been lost indefinitely in her own thoughts.

As it was, he clasped her hand in his warm fingers and demanded, “What men, Brienne?”

Brienne started. She had been admonishing him only moments ago. Now she couldn’t remember what they’d been discussing.

“What men, Brienne?” Jaime repeated, his tone softer.

She’d accused him of laughing at her. Mocking her. She’d accused him of being just like all the other men she’d known in her life. Men who thought that just because she was a woman, and an ugly one at that, they could take what they wanted without a care for how Brienne felt. But was Jaime Lannister one of those men? She stared down at the scars on his hand, remembered the way his green eyes had sparked with mischief. The way they’d dimmed when he recounted his step-sister. Jaime had trusted her with his secret. Perhaps it was time she trusted him with hers.

“I wasn’t like the other girls,” she whispered to his hand. “I was too… sporty. Too mannish. The girls in school didn’t know what to do with me.” Jaime squeezed her hand and Brienne looked up at him. “I was a fair hand at sports, though. I ran cross country in secondary school and joined the track and field team in university. Ran on a scholarship actually.” 

“No surprise,” Jaime murmured, removing his hand and running it through his hair. “Legs like yours…”

Brienne fought back a blush. “Yes, well. I wasn’t popular, at first. But I was a fast runner. I had stamina.” She fidgeted in her seat, flicked the overhead light on and off again. “Big Ben Bushy was the first. He brought me cold bottles of water at every meet up. Ed Ambrose went him one better and bought me a new pair of running shoes—which, of course, I told him I couldn’t accept. Hyle Hunt outdid them both.”

Jaime straightened at the weight of Hyle’s name on her tongue. Brienne could feel his gaze baring into her cheek. She didn’t want to meet his eyes, not now, when Hyle’s face floated in her memories. 

“He taught me how to pole vault. Worked with me when Coach Tarly didn’t have the time. Helped me perfect my extension and turn. Hyle trained with me every night after regular practice, and that meant more to me than all the rest.” Brienne paused, remembered the sweet victory of that first landing and the way Hyle had clapped her on the back. “We dated for six months. It was the longest I’d ever—and he was… nice, at first. Attentive. He always brought me gifts, little things that reminded me of the Isle of Tarth and what it felt like to belong.”

Their other teammates had been furious, but they hadn’t given up. They showered Brienne with gifts and favors of their own. They shared gossip with her, included her in on their jokes and comradery. Her chest ached to remember it now; how fake they all were and how blind she had been. Brienne shook her head in disgust. Her face felt hot again, but not from embarrassment.

“I was an idiot. I overheard Hyle talking to a few of the guys one night while I waited for him outside the men’s locker rooms.” Brienne pressed her lips together and beat back the sudden urge to let out a poorly-timed and completely inappropriate laugh. “You’re not the only one who’s had bad luck with locker rooms.”

Jaime frowned and leaned towards her. He grabbed her hand again, and the pressure of his fingers on hers was crushing. “Brienne,” he growled.

It was a question. Brienne nodded and continued her story, this time looking Jaime full in the face. “There was bet, you see. The first one who could take my virginity took the pot. Quite a large sum, actually. Not everyone on the team played, but enough of them did. Hyle told me later that most of them had given up when we’d started dating.” 

“You mean you still spoke to him after you found out about the bet!?”

Brienne ducked her head, and this time she couldn’t help but laugh. “I did say I was an idiot, didn’t I?”

Jaime’s expression was so fierce that Brienne clapped her mouth shut, afraid she had offended him. His hand was still gripped around hers, and he twisted in his seat until he faced her. Around them, the rest of the cabin was dark and silent. It’s occupants had long since drifted into the catatonic repose that only occured on long distance flights. Ygritte and Jon Snow had disappeared from the service area at the front of the plane. Only the heavy drone of the plane engines filled the quiet space.

Jaime ran his hand up Brienne’s arm, not seductively, not even in a gesture of comfort. His grip was firm. The tips of his fingers pressed into her biceps and curled around the sharp bones of her shoulder. He brought his other hand up to cup Brienne’s cheek, and she huffed a soft, frustrated breath.

She warred with herself to move into Jaime’s touch and to pull away. She had rarely experienced true kindness. She had seen glimpses of it, like a mirage on the horizon; it had been tantalizingly close sometimes. But Brienne was suspicious by nature. Nothing made her feel more vulnerable, warier, than when that haze appeared on her periphery. She closed her eyes against Jaime’s palm, and when he finally spoke, she jumped.

“Brienne Tarth,” he whispered harshly, “you are stubborn, naïve, and noble to a fault. You’re also generous, gallant, and pure.” Brienne snapped her eyes open. “You are muscle and blue eyes and legs for days. And you are too good for Hyle Hunt.”

Brienne blinked, and her vision filled with tears. She didn’t want to cry in front of a man like Jaime Lannister.

But Jaime ignored her tears except to wipe away one or two with the edge of his thumb. He peered into her eyes with an expression that Brienne was, frankly, terrified to read. If Jaime saw the terror in her face, he ignored that, too. He glowered. “Each one of those _boys_ deserves a fucking punch to the face. Tell me you hit at least one of them?”

Brienne’s laugh was watery. “I hit Hyle,” she said. “He went down in one swing.”

Jaime laughed, too, and Brienne almost felt better. But all too soon the day’s events tumbled back into her mind and left her with a sinking feeling. Jaime brushed his fingers across her cheeks again. His thumbs hovered against her lips, her chin, her jaw—feather-light touches that promised so much more. 

“I would never do that to you,” Jaime said quietly. “I would never hurt you, Brienne. Not willingly.” He paused, his eyes studying her own. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” The word came quick to her lips. Yes, she would trust him. She _did_ trust him. It would take a longer look at her heart to understand the reason fully, but Brienne knew she would trust Jaime Lannister with her life. “I trust you.”

Jaime leaned forward and kissed her softly. “Good,” he said. “Now tell me about Tarth.”

*

Brienne woke up against Jaime’s shoulder. Outside the window, dawn painted the sky a filmy pink. They were high above the clouds. On the monitor at the front of the cabin, just visible over the seat in front of her, an electronic map showed their plane’s progress. The small symbol representing their aircraft was only a finger-width’s distance from King’s Landing. The plane had made it unscathed, and it wouldn’t be long now before she was home. The thought filled Brienne with the heaviness of loss.

Jaime was warm and solid against her cheek. He had abandoned his suit jacket long ago, and the fine cotton of his dress shirt was soft against her cheek. Brienne should have been embarrassed to fall asleep against a man she barely knew on a plane full of strangers. But this hadn’t been an ordinary flight, and Jaime… Well, Jaime wasn’t just some man. She felt an affinity with him that she hadn’t felt in a long time. Ever, maybe.

They’d spent most of the night talking. Brienne told Jaime about growing up on the Isle of Tarth. She told him about sailing the sapphire waters with her father and golden afternoons spent exploring the ruins of her family’s seat.

Jaime had narrowed his eyes at that. “Family seat? So, you _are_ a blue blood, same as me.”

Brienne rolled her eyes. “I’m no blue blood,” she replied. “Too many generations of farmers between me and nobility. Our family doesn’t even own ancestral lands anymore. Sold them off long ago and now it’s become a tourist trap.”

She paused and fidgeted with her seatbelt before adopting a silly salesman’s voice. “ _Come see the crumbling castle of Evenfall Hall, home to the many Evenstars of yore. Gaze at the Narrow Sea from atop majestic cliffs and white sand beaches, swim with dolphins, listen to the exotic forest birds sing._ ”

She’d expected Jaime to laugh, but instead he only smiled a small, secretive smile and said, “Sounds romantic.”

It hadn’t taken much prompting for Jaime to share stories of growing up on another coast. Casterly Rock sounded imposing and austere, and his childhood one of lonely privilege. While it was clear Jaime held a torch for his younger brother, Tyrion, he had stumbled to find kind words about Cersei. Brienne didn’t prompt him; it was clearly a painful topic, one that stretched beyond the ordeal with Aerys Targaryen. 

She’d asked him about his father instead. But there, Jaime had even less to say. Tywin Lannister was the kind of man who had failed to have meaningful relationships with all three of his children. Brienne felt sorry for him. Jaime, at least, was wonderful.

Outside the airplane window, the sky turned from pink to frothy yellow. Brienne breathed in against Jaime’s shoulder. Beneath the smell of recycled air, his shirt smelled like sandalwood and lemongrass. She imagined what it would be like to wake up with him every morning—the crimp in his hair from sleeping, the way he’d stretch and yawn like a lion. She wondered if he slept in the nude. Heat rose in her face and she banished the thought.

What would happen when their plane finally landed? Would they part their separate ways at the gate? Wave goodbye and disappear into the crowd forever?

Perhaps it was better if she thought of the last few hours like a dream. Sometimes she woke up from her dreams and could still feel them, still taste them, grasping for something that had never been there. It was an exquisite kind of disappointment, but it didn’t hurt. Only reality could every really hurt.


	8. Jaime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime struggles to pull his head out of the clouds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write one more piece for JB Week, BUT two things happened. 1) this chapter just happened to line up really well with today's JB Week theme, and 2) postponing the original piece slated for today allows me to devote a bit more time to it before I post. 
> 
> So. Long story short, here is my final contribution for JB Week, Day 7: Love. 
> 
> I cannot say how much I've enjoyed participating in this week's festivities, and so many kudos go to the wonderful people over at Jaime x Brienne Online for putting this week together--the art, the edits, the discussion, the fic! The people who participate in this fandom are amazing and talented and so, so fun.
> 
> Happy reading :)

If Jaime tipped his chin just a bit, he could watch Brienne watch the dawn outside their window. Every few seconds, her long pale lashes flickered. He imagined them tickling his cheek instead of the fine cotton of his shirt and smiled.

He’d been awake for at least half an hour. He’d kept still as possible, relishing the feel of Brienne leaning against his arm and dreading the moment when she would sit up. At the head of the cabin, Ygritte and Jon Snow bumped and jostled as they started morning service. Someone in First Class passed down the aisle toward the lavatory. On the screen fixed at the front of the cabin, a small plane inched it’s way ever closer to King’s Landing.

Eight hours. That was how long Jaime had been on this plane. It was how long he’d known Brienne Tarth. That was it. Not a long time, really. Certainly not long enough to establish a relationship, right? Jaime watched her out of the corner of his eyes. To be honest, he wasn’t much good at starting relationships. His last one had started by way of… accident? Devine providence? Fate? Meeting Brienne Tarth felt a bit like fate, too.

He wondered if it was too early to ask her out to dinner. Or perhaps it was too late. Shit, was it too late? Had the incident in the lavatory ruined that? Would she expect it? Would she laugh at him? Turn him down?

Cersei had only laughed at him when he got too clingy. She liked her space, relished in it. She was the kind of woman who decided _when_ and _where_ and _how_. Jaime had liked that about her at first. After a while, he started to wonder if she even wanted him around. Sometimes he would try to hold her after they’d made love and she would struggle to get out of his grasp. It hurt to be with someone who didn’t really want you back.

But Brienne wasn’t like that. Brienne was… innocent. Good. As new to this as he was. The tentative way she’d kissed him in the lavatory had clued him in on that. He didn’t think less of her for it; indeed, it’d only intrigued him more. What other things could he teach Brienne Tarth with enough privacy, space and time?

Jaime resisted the urge to fidget. A series of images played through his mind in a distracting manner. He was sure Brienne had no idea how she could affect him—did affect him. She was not beautiful, that was true, and she’d never believe him if he told her that he thought she was. But she was unique and strong. She was funny. Honorable. Eyes the color of a clear summer sky. And _gods_ , her legs…

Jaime shifted in his seat and Brienne stirred against his shoulder. She sat up, rubbed her eyes, and looked at him.

Yes, those eyes would be the death of him.

“Good morning,” Jaime said.

She smiled shyly. “Good morning.”

For a moment, they simply stared at each other. 

“Will you be wantin’ coffee or tea, then?”

Jaime and Brienne both jumped. Ygritte stretched her hand along the back of Jaime’s seat and smiled down at them, the picture of professional sunshine. Her uniform looked almost freshly-pressed, her hair twisted back over her shoulder without a flyaway in sight. A drink trolley waited at Ygritte’s hip, lined with porcelain cups and a selection of carafes.

“You’ve had quite a night,” she said, winking at Brienne. “I’ll bet you could use some caffeine.”

Brienne blushed and looked away. “No thank you,” she murmured, straightening her blouse.

Ygritte smiled knowingly. “And you, Mr. Lannister?”

Jaime wondered if the stewardess had a vindictive streak. Perhaps she hadn’t quite forgiven them for landing in a heap in the middle of her plane and disturbing the other passengers.

“Coffee,” he said, smiling back. “Two sugars, no milk.”

*

The morning passed in silence. When Ygritte returned again to offer a selection of breakfast options, Brienne declined. So did Jaime. He didn’t have the stomach for breakfast. He was too nervous. Any thoughts he'd had about convincing Brienne to visit the lavatory for a second round went out of his head like smoke through a vent. He felt like a green boy out on his first date. Should he try to hold Brienne’s hand? He worried she might flinch if he reached for her. He wiped a sweaty palm against his slacks.

The captain’s voice crackled over the intercom and announced their final descent. “Ladies and Gentlemen, we will begin making our final descent into King’s Landing. Please make sure seat backs and tray tables are in the upright position. Your seat belt should be fastened and all carry-on baggage should be secured under the seat in front of you or in the compartments overhead. All electronic devices should be placed in airplane mode until we have reached our gate. Thank you.”

Brienne moved her seat up and began stuffing granola wrappers and magazines into the blue tote bag at her feet. Jaime stood and pulled his jacket from the overhead bin. He had folded it nicely the evening prior, but it was hopeless to assume it would be without its creases after six hours on a plane. He pulled it on, smiling politely at the man across the aisle who had propositioned him earlier.

When he turned back around, Brienne was staring at him. He tugged his shirt cuffs and slid back into his seat. She looked down at her lap and then over to the window. She pulled the blind down, casting them into shadow. She was just about to reach for the air vent when Jaime caught her hand in his.

“Stop, A,” he murmured. “You’ll drive me mad with all that fiddling.”

To his surprise, she laughed. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “It’s just—this whole flight has felt so surreal. It’s like I’ve just had an out of body experience and now that we’re landing, I—” She took a breath and looked over at him. “I’m afraid of flying.”

Jaime’s guffaw was quick and full of pleasure. “My gods,” he laughed. “Do you think that’s news to anyone on this plane?”

She flushed. “Well, I don’t think that’s true,” she said, sounding slightly offended.

“Of course it’s true,” Jaime replied. “You touch the blind, the vent, the light, your bag beneath the seat… and don’t get me started on your seat belt!”

Brienne smiled. “You’re no better, you know,” she huffed. “You clench your fists constantly. You stare unabashed at everyone around you. As if you own the entire plane.”

Jaime frowned and leaned toward her. “I _do_ own this plane.”

There was a pause, and then Brienne grinned. “You are impossible.”

Jaime grinned back. He thought about needling her some more, but then she might notice that he still had her hand clutched tightly in his, and he didn’t feel like give it up just yet. Instead, he settled back against his seat and smiled at the tray table in front of him.

*

Brienne let him hold her hand until the plane landed and taxied to the gate. When the intercom chimed and the seatbelt sign flickered off, she slipped her fingers out of his and gathered her things. Jaime stood and let her pass before him into the aisle. Behind them, the other passengers in First Class and Coach murmured and shuffled and grappled with their belongings.

Jon Snow and Ygritte waited at the front of the cabin, waving passengers off the plane. “Thank you for flying Mhysa Air, queen of the skies,” Jon simpered. Brienne thanked him, nodded at Ygritte, and stepped onto the gangplank.

“Good luck to you both,” Ygritte said to Jaime, throwing him an exaggerated wink before he lost sight of her through the doorway. 

He followed Brienne down the gangplank and through the gate into the King’s Landing International Airport. He’d been through KLA a hundred times before, but it never ceased to amaze him how it felt like walking into a wall of sound. Travelers waited impatiently at the gate, staring hungrily at the passengers deplaning. They filled up the smooth leather seats that boxed in the gate, holding murmured conversations while their children ran screaming around them. The terminal hallway was no better, with people rushing to their gates or looking confused as they searched for International Arrivals and the baggage claim. They chatted on cell phones, to one another, sometimes even to themselves. 

Brienne seemed as loathe to part with him as he was with her, and they walked side by side through the terminal, down a crowded hallway, and into the queue for International Arrivals. Jaime searched his pockets for his papers. He was not at all surprised that Brienne already had hers clutched tightly in hand.

“You never told me why you were in Braavos,” he said.

Brienne glanced at him and then went back to observing the queue. “It’s not very interesting,” she said. “I was at a friend’s wedding.”

“Old flame?” Asked Jaime, hating himself.

She smiled. “Something like that. Renly and I went to college together. He wanted to get married in the Stormlands, but his partner, Loras, insisted on somewhere more exotic. Three days of gambling and drinking at the Moon Pool Resort was plenty for me.”

“You went all the way to Braavos just to sit in a casino for three days? Sounds miserable.”

Brienne hummed and then turned to look at him fully. “You never told me why _you_ were in Braavos.”

“Ah,” he lifted his black briefcase as they moved up in the line. “Business meeting at the Iron Bank.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Sounds miserable.”

“You should go back some day,” said Jaime suddenly. “Really explore. You’re young enough.”

“And you aren’t?” She asked, looking him over.

Jaime let himself bask in her attention for a moment. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t be coming along.”

*

Jaime didn’t know exactly what he wanted from Brienne, but he did know that dinner was at least on the list. Dinner, and perhaps something else. He could take his time finding out. Brienne deserved more than a quick tryst on a plane; she deserved the world.

She was waiting for him on the other side of immigration, and he took a moment to appreciate the way she held herself in the crowd. Sure, steady, confident. He suspected she would argue that assessment, but Jaime saw the way others looked at her. Brienne was tall and imposing, not attractive in the way people had been brought up to think of that word. She was unique, and that made her beautiful.

She smiled when he approached, and he marveled at the way her eyes seemed to sparkle. It was silly to feel so happy to see someone after just a few minutes apart, and yet he was ecstatic. Didn’t want to stop looking at her, even.

He could tell he was making her uncomfortable with his attention. She cast him uncertain looks and switched her bag from one shoulder to the other, her pink neck pillow slipping dangerously out of grasp. Jaime smirked and pushed it back into her arms, enjoying the fact that he made her feel as unbalanced as he felt around her.

He followed her out of immigration and into the baggage claim, searching furtively for the sign over the baggage belt that listed their flight. The baggage claim was crawling with people. Travelers searched the conveyor belts for their bags. Family members searched for loved ones. Drivers waved name cards. Overhead speakers announced arrivals and departures over terrible elevator music.

“4076!” Brienne exclaimed, grabbing his arm excitedly. “That’s us!” He grinned, and she pulled him a few steps in the right direction before she remembered herself and dropped her hand.

He wondered if it would be too presumptuous to ask her out then and there, but she was already weaving through the crowd toward the line of bags. Jaime had an acute sense that time was running out for them. Either Brienne didn’t have an interest in him, or she didn’t realize that their goodbye was fast approaching, but she hadn’t broached the subject of what had happened on the plane since bravely declaring her fear of flying.

She was right—what happened on the plan _did_ feel like an out of body experience. Like a story Jaime had only read about. How many people really met perfect strangers and fell in love? How many—

Jaime stopped. Brienne threw him a curious look and kept walking, dogging hurriedly after a bulky black suitcase on the conveyor belt.

 _In love_. He was in love with her. He shook his head. Impossible. It had only been eight hours. Eight hours of frustration and fascination and titillation. And something else. Some connection that Jaime had only felt once before with—

“Brother!”

Jaime looked down. His brother Tyrion waddled toward him, arms out, a welcoming smile on his otherwise twisted face. Travelers bumped and jostled one another to make room for the diminutive man. Jaime grimaced and looked around. He turned in place. He couldn’t see Brienne. Had she found her bag? Had she left?

“Jaime?” Tyrion had dropped his arms and was looking up at him with concern.

Jaime threw him a distracted smile and searched the crowd desperately.

Finally! Between a break in the crowd, just as someone pushed a luggage trolley to the left, Jaime saw her. She was tugging the black suitcase from the conveyor belt. Her tote bag swung forward awkwardly and her pink neck pillow dropped. She pushed her hair away from her face with one hand and grabbed to catch the pillow with the other. She looked at the crowd self-consciously—just a second when her expression slipped—and then she pulled herself up to her full height and snapped the retractable luggage handle into place. 

Jaime laughed and grinned and waved to catch her eye. His stomach swooped. Tyrion cast him a curious look, but Jaime didn’t care. Gods help him, but he was in love with Brienne Tarth.


	9. Brienne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne say goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your lovely comments on the last chapter! Happy reading :)

The baggage claim was packed. Brienne slid her heavy black suitcase from the conveyor belt and collected her belongings. She scanned the crowd around Baggage Claim Number Four, but there was no sign of Jaime.

For a wild moment, she thought perhaps he had left. It would have been the perfect non-goodbye for two people who could still be considered strangers. Her heart sunk; she’d felt a connection with Jaime and she’d thought he’d felt one, too. The way he’d looked at her as they disembarked the plane had her thinking that perhaps… but no. 

She straightened her shoulders self-consciously. Brienne Tarth was not a woman built for fairy tales—even a child could see that. How many times had she allowed herself to be caught up in romantic stories, only to be disappointed at their ending? But when Brienne glanced back at the crowd, a wildly-gesticulating hand caught her attention. There was Jaime, waving at her and smiling, his green eyes bright in the florescent lights overhead.

Brienne let a wave of relief wash over her and soak her to the bone. One day she would scold herself for acting so vulnerable. One day, but not today. She grabbed her suitcase and moved toward him, beaming in return. She dodged an old man with a red duffle bag, excused herself as she pushed through a family of six, and twisted around two teenagers eagerly making out.

Jaime was waiting for her with a smile. “I thought I’d lost you in the crush, A.” 

Brienne dropped her shoulders and let out a breath. “I thought I’d lost you, too.”

“Well,” came a voice down by her hip, “now that we’ve all been found, perhaps introductions are in order?”

Brienne looked down quickly. A dwarf stood just off to the right, gazing quizzically up at them. He was handsome, dressed in a well-cut suit, his curly hair the same shade as Jaime’s. His eyes were two different colors, one green and one black, and they made Brienne nervous as they scanned her from head to toe and back. “My, my,” he said, “you are a tall drink of water.”

Brienne willed the blush away from her cheeks with little success. The dwarf’s eyes twinkled mischievously at the sight of it. Remembering her manners, she pulled her suitcase close to her legs and then bent to offer him her hand. “Brienne Tarth,” she said.

The dwarf took her large hand in his smaller one, his grasp solid and warm. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Tarth,” he drawled in a voice that was not unlike the one Jaime had used to tease her with earlier on the plane. “Tyrion Lannister. The brother.”

 _Brother_. Brienne could see the resemblance clearly now, despite the difference in their statures. Tyrion had a professional, long-suffering air about him, but Brienne caught the same roguish glint in his eyes as she’d seen in Jaime’s.

She smiled politely at Tyrion and withdrew her hand, but he was watching Jaime’s face, not hers. A knowing smile rested on the edges of his lips. “Charmed,” he murmured, “I’m sure.”

Jaime cleared his throat and flexed a fist on the handle of his briefcase. “Brienne had the pleasure of sitting next to me on the plane,” he explained to Tyrion. “A lucky upgrade.”

“Yes, I’m sure luck had something to do with it,” said Tyrion, “though I doubt Miss Tarth here would categorize it in that light.” He turned to her. “I’ve had the pleasure of entertaining my brother on many long-haul flights. There’s only so much inane conversation one can endure before escaping to the lavatory, wouldn’t you say, Miss Tarth?”

Brienne choked on her response and tried desperately not to look at Jaime. Her cheeks were on fire, and _Gods_ , she needed a drink. Or an escape route. She glanced at the Exit sign several yards away. There had to be a dozen people between the doors and Brienne. She grabbed her suitcase and bumped it against her legs. Tyrion watched her with interest.

“It was an uneventful trip,” she told him, her voice a bit higher than normal.

Jaime let out a strange gurgle next to her, and when she looked over, she saw that he was laughing. “Yes,” he coughed, catching her eye. “Entirely uneventful. Dullest flight I’ve ever had in my life.”

Brienne resisted the urge to stomp on one of his shoes. _Insufferable man_. He was far too attractive, standing there in his creased suit, hair in disarray and green eyes sparkling. She’d combed her fingers through that hair only a few hours ago; had seen those eyes grow dark with want as he’d kissed her against the lavatory door.

Damn it all, she was blushing again!

Tyrion made a sing-song hum and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Well,” he said, “as much as I’d love—and I truly would love—to hear about the most uneventful flight in Jaime’s life, we’ve got a board meeting to catch.”

Jaime sobered instantly. Brienne remembered what he’d told her of his job. A glorified errand boy, he’d called himself. “Yes,” he agreed grimly. “I’m afraid we can’t keep father waiting.”

“Bronn is with the car.” Tyrion gestured to the doors over Jaime’s shoulder and then turned to Brienne. “Do you need a ride, my dear? It would be nothing to have Bronn drop you off somewhere.”

“Yes,” Jaime added, stuttering. “Of course. Do you? Have a ride, that is?”

Brienne bit her lip. “I’ll just catch a taxi,” she answered. “I wouldn’t want to be a burden.”

Jaime took a hesitant step toward her, his face unguarded. “You’re not a burden, A,” he said quietly.

Brienne’s stupid heart leapt at the earnestness in his gaze. She wanted to accept his offer. More than anything. She already ached at the thought of watching him drive off, a thread of panic twanging somewhere in her core.

“No,” she slowly, looking at her feet. “I would be. You have a board meeting to get to and I have…” She trailed off. What did she have? Her father would be waiting for a phone call to know she’d landed safe and sound. She was sure to have an email or two from Catelyn Stark about ongoing projects at work. Margaery and her brother Loras would be out at one of King’s Landing’s many bars later tonight, ready for a full report on Braavosi men. A few of the plants in her cold, dark apartment were probably still alive, so she at least had that…

She shook her head and smiled. Jaime’s expression was soft and a little wary. She thought it almost funny that _he_ should be afraid of _her_.

The thought gave her the courage to straighten up, push her shoulders back, and stick out her hand. “I’m no longer surprised to say that it’s been a pleasure flying with you, Jaime Lannister.”

Jaime stared at her hand. He frowned. She waited another heartbeat for him to take it, and when he didn’t, she turned to Tyrion instead. He took her hand with an amused expression.

“A pleasure meeting you, Mr. Lannister,” she said. “Best of luck in your board meeting. Your brother has told me all about your latest venture. I can’t say I quite approve of dismantling a decades-old business, but I have no doubt Jaime has set up the deal brilliantly.”

“Yes,” Tyrion sighed, shooting a disapproving look at his brother. “I’m sure luck had something to do with it.”

*

Brienne followed Jaime and Tyrion to the exit. She tried not to feel bitter about the way the crowd seemed to part before Jaime, women and men alike shooting him looks of longing and appreciation. What must it be like to move through life with so much beauty and privilege? Jaime barely seemed to notice.

Tyrion turned and threw her a wink over his shoulder, as if he knew what she’d been thinking.

Brienne flushed and looked around for the taxi queue. She caught sight of the sign at the end of a long line of cars idling on the curb outside. The taxi queue was relatively short, only a few patrons waiting for cabs. Brienne halted. “I think this where we say goodbye,” she called to Jaime and Tyrion.

Both brothers stopped short and turned to her. She gestured toward the taxi queue. 

Tyrion cleared his throat. “Yes, well.” He glanced up at his older brother. “I suppose I should run ahead and see if Bronn’s where I left him. You never know with men like him—the first pretty woman in a skirt and…” He made a gesture with his hand akin to a bird taking flight. “I hope to see you again someday, Miss Tarth,” he said with a slight bow.

Brienne only nodded and watched him walk away. When she finally looked at Jaime, he wore a pained expression. He walked back to where she stood. “You’re sure I can’t give you a ride, A?”

She shook her head, determined to part with some of her dignity left intact. She’d happily throw herself at this man right here on the arrivals curb, but the last thing she wanted was to turn Jaime into a spectacle.

“I’m sure,” she told him.

Jaime nodded. He flexed his hand against his briefcase handle. A nervous tick? He looked like he was deliberating something before he set his briefcase down on the sidewalk beside him and dug into the breast pocket of his jacket. He pulled out a small white card and studied it.

Brienne held her breath.

Jaime glanced up at her and back down to the card. He smiled sheepishly at it. “I know a place on the Waterfront that serves great fish.”

The corners of his mouth jerked down and Brienne was surprised to see two pink spots appear on his cheeks. “What I mean is, I’d like to take you to dinner, A.” He looked back up. “It’s not Tarth, but perhaps we could pretend?”

Brienne pressed her lips together and then smiled. “I’d like that,” she murmured.

“Good, that’s good.” Jaime handed her his card. The paper was thick and finely milled with a red lion embossed next to the name of his father's company. Jaime’s name and phone number were listed just below. “That’s my mobile number,” he said. “Call me tomorrow and we’ll arrange a time?" 

Brienne nodded. “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Dinner.”

They stared at each other a moment longer. The air was full of honking cars and travelers greeting loved ones just a few yards away. But all that faded until it was just the two of them. Jaime moved into her. He brushed his lips across her cheek in a feather-light kiss. Brienne closed her eyes to savor the sensation until he moved away. When she opened them, he was looking at her with a crooked smile.

Warmth suffused her. She twisted his card in her fingers, the little red lion winking in the bright morning light. Before she could help herself, she said, “You’re a good man, Jaime Lannister. I hope you know that.”

Jaime’s smile faltered and he cocked his head.

“I just—” Brienne couldn’t backpedal now. There was honor in Jaime; she’d seen it. He deserved more than being treated like an errand boy, like he wasn’t worth his weight in gold. She waved the card in her hand. “I just think that if you’ve outgrown the story that’s been written for you, maybe it’s time to write a new one.”

Jaime stared at her. She wondered, briefly, if she’d messed everything up. She shoved his card into the back pocket of her jeans and hefted her tote bag on her shoulder. His eyes were sharp emeralds. She waited for a clever retort, but it never came.

When he didn’t reply, Brienne grasped her suitcase handle and gave him a final, tentative smile. “Goodbye, Jaime,” she said. “I’ll—I’ll call you.”

She waved awkwardly one last time and left him standing in the sunlight on the curb.

*

It was a quick, five-minute wait in the taxi queue before a yellow cab pulled up in front of Brienne. A young man with dark hair jumped out of the driver’s seat and popped the trunk. He was still pimply from adolescence, but he greeted her politely and took her suitcase without hesitation. Brienne slid into the backseat as the driver slammed the trunk shut. He jumped into the car and glanced at her in the rearview mirror.

“Where to, miss?”

Brienne recited the address for her apartment, and the driver plugged it into a GPS device on his dashboard. He started the meter and then flicked the indicator that he was turning. Brienne rolled her window down, the morning already heating up to something pleasant and fresh.

Cars picking up passengers blocked the cab on all sides, and the taxi behind theirs honked loudly. The young man rolled his window down and waved his lanky arm in a dismissive way. Brienne heard shouting behind her, and the driver rolled his eyes. “People are always in a rush.” He smiled in the rearview mirror at her. “Sometimes, waiting’s half the fun!”

Brienne smiled politely, not sure if she agreed. What she wouldn’t give for a shower followed by a nap in her own bed. She closed her eyes against the traffic and the sun, only to snap them open as she heard her name shouted over the din.

“Brienne! Brienne! Wait!” 

She shot up in her seat and twisted around to peer out the rear window. People waiting along the curb jumped out of the way as a man in a dark suit ran toward the taxi queue, his gold hair catching in the light. Brienne gasped.

“Brienne!”

“Is that you, miss?” The driver asked. She ignored him.

“Brienne!” Jaime skidded to a halt outside the taxi and flung her door open.

“Jaime, what—” Before she could finish her question, he tugged her up and out of the car.

“I’m an idiot,” he told her breathlessly. Then he kissed her.

Brienne had only been kissed like that once before, and it had occurred in a lavatory several thousand feet in the air. It felt like flying. But this time, she wasn’t scared.

Jaime pressed her against the side of the taxi, his hands sliding into her hair. She wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed him back. His lips were eager against hers, and she gasped for breath as he broke away. He peppered her jaw and her neck with kisses before swiftly returning to cover her open mouth his. When he finally pulled away, they were both panting.

Suddenly, the curb erupted in clapping and jeers. Brienne flattened her hands against her face and buried her forehead into Jaime’s neck.

“Piss off!” Jaime shouted at them until the clapping died down. He leaned back to look at her. “I’m an idiot,” he said again.

“What? Why?”

“Because I just stood there while the best new thing to come into my life walked away from me.”

Brienne hid her face against his shoulder, sure she’d turned a million shades of crimson. A laugh threatened to burst from her chest. Her hands itched to grab Jaime by the lapels of his suit and pull him back to her. There were countless people watching them right now, but she didn’t care. She swallowed thickly and asked, “So does that mean we’re still on for dinner?”

Jaime growled and captured her lips again. The taxi behind them laid on their horn. Someone shouted at them to get a room. Jaime grinned against her mouth, clearly delighted by the attention. “Absolutely, A.”


	10. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mile High Club gains two more members.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and happy holidays to the lovely people who have taken time to read this story! I am eternally grateful for every view, kudo, and comment you've left for me. I have enjoyed every second of writing this story, and I can’t wait to work on the next one. 
> 
> Happy reading :)

_One year later…_

 

Brienne checked the monitor over the ticketing desk one last time.

_Flight 53: Tarth_  
_Departs: 11:15 AM  
_ _Boarding in: 5 minutes_

She pressed her phone to her ear. “Dad,” she said, interrupting Selwyn Tarth’s usual spiel about safe air travel. “I really have to go… Uh huh, I’m excited to see you, too.” She laughed. “Yes, and Goodwin.”

Her father said something on the other end of the line, his deep voice so reminiscent of waves booming against the cliffs on Tarth that Brienne could almost smell the sea air.

Her eyes slid across the polished lobby of the Charter and Private Flights wing at King’s Landing International Airport. Jaime stood at the ticketing counter, speaking to one of the agents. He gestured to the two suitcases resting next to him and then to the tarmac outside. Just past the gleaming lobby doors, a small private jet was humming to life in the morning sun. Jaime looked over his shoulder and caught Brienne’s eye. She sighed against the phone and smiled back at him. 

“What?” She asked the phone. “I’ll be fine, Dad, I promise. We’ll see you in two hours?”

She paused, listening to Selwyn’s rough baritone and watching Jaime prowl across the lobby toward her, that now familiar look in his eyes that suggested she’d be well-kissed within the minute. Selwyn rumbled something about separate rooms and bringing boys home.

“Don’t worry, Dad.” Brienne grinned into the phone. “I think you’re really going to like him.” 

*

Brienne followed Jaime out onto the tarmac. The private jet was small and sleek. A roaring red lion stood on his hind legs on the tail of the jet, the letters “CR” curving beneath the lion’s feet. Pride swelled in Brienne’s chest at the sight of the aircraft—fully funded by Jaime’s new company, Casterly Rock Venture Capital, and purchased with exactly zero of his father’s money. 

She blushed at the memory of popping champagne with Jaime on the night the corporation paperwork was finalized. Tyrion had thrown a party at his apartment and invited what felt like the entirety of King’s Landing. There had been too many people for Brienne’s taste—models and businessmen and wealthy older women. They fawned on Jaime and Tyrion, the lot of them. But after half an hour of schmoozing, Jaime had gripped Brienne’s hand hard in his, set their drinks on a table and tugged her out the door.

They’d spent the rest of the night holed up in Jaime’s dark, quiet apartment across town. Just the two of them celebrating a new page in Jaime’s life.

Brienne jogged forward to catch up with Jaime and slipped her hand into his. He squeezed her fingers, his grasp warm. It was hard to imagine how much had changed over the past year. They’d been planning this trip for two months now. Things had finally calmed down at the company, and he’d surprised her with tickets to Tarth on his company jet. While Brienne did not condone the misuse of company property, she did miss her father immensely. It took a week of begging on Jaime’s part, and Catelyn Stark practically shoving Brienne out of the office, before she'd agreed to go. 

“One trip, A,” Jaime had told her over dinner when she’d argued against his plan. “Not a habit, just a special occasion.” Brienne eyed him over the elegant table set back in a corner at their favorite Dornish-style restaurant. 

He reached across the tablecloth and she set her hand in his. “Trust me, A.”

She smiled and leaned toward him. “I trust you.”

A tall man in a captain’s uniform waited for them at the bottom of the airstair. He shook Jaime’s hand and said, “A lovely day for flying, sir. If you don’t mind, I’ll need to check yours and your wife’s credentials, please.”

Brienne opened her mouth to protest, but Jaime knocked his shoulder into hers. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out his identification. “Of course,” he drawled. “It is an excellent day for flying, isn’t captain…?”

The captain cleared his throat. “Captain Quhuru Mo, sir.”

Jaime leaned back on his heels and looked the captain over. “You’re new,” he said.

The captain ducked his head once. “I’ve flown for your brother, sir, but never for you.”

Jaime nodded. Brienne looked quizzically between the two men, wondering why Jaime was trying to intimidate the man who would soon be the deciding factor between arriving safely in Tarth or plummeting headfirst into the ocean. Suddenly, Jaime smiled. He slapped the captain’s shoulder with one hand and passed his I.D.  to the captain with his other.

“Well, if you’re good enough for my little brother, you’re good enough for us.” Jaime lowered his voice and flexed his brow. “Although, a word of warning— _Ms. Tarth_ here doesn’t like having titles arbitrarily assigned to her, at least by men who aren’t me.”

The captain opened his mouth in surprise and looked at Brienne quickly. Jaime drew back and let out a bark of laughter. “I assure you, Captain Mo, as soon as she lets me call her wife, you’ll be the first one I tell.”

Brienne stood speechless at Jaime’s side. Should she punch him or kiss him? She wasn’t sure, exactly, what Jaime meant by his little speech, but she understood him well enough when he slipped an arm possessively around her waist. “Your papers, Brienne,” he purred against her ear.

Punch him, she should definitely punch him.

Captain Mo grinned nervously. Brienne passed her I.D. to the captain, who gave them the briefest review before handing them back. “Excuse me, Ms. Tarth,” he said, “I meant no offense.”

Brienne nodded, her face a wash of humiliation. How did Jaime do that? How did he make it so easy to love and hate him at the same time?

Jaime tugged her forward toward the airstair. “No harm done, Captain Mo,” he called over his shoulder. “Shall we?”

*

Captain Mo followed them up the airstair. Their bags had been loaded on the plane earlier, and the engines were already whirring to life beneath their feet. Inside, the plane was muted elegance with beige, suede-lined seats and sleek, bronze-capped tables. Recessed lighting dotted the ceiling and a bottle of champagne waited in a perspiring steel ice bucket at the back of the cabin. It was cozy, to say the least, and Brienne had to stoop slightly as she took a seat on one of the plush chairs so she wouldn’t knock her head, but it was more luxury than she’d ever known. 

A pretty stewardess sashayed up the aisle toward them. She was petite with dark hair and a brilliant white smile. “Welcome aboard, Mr. Lannister,” she chirped. 

Jaime nodded at her and took the seat next to Brienne. “Pia, it’s nice to see you again. This is Brienne—”

“Tarth,” said Pia, holding out her hand to Brienne. “I’ve heard so much about you, Ms. Tarth. Mainly from Tyrion, it’s true. Mr. Lannister here isn’t one to kiss and tell, so I’ve been told.”

Brienne shook the woman’s hand, taking an instant liking to her. There was something in Pia’s open expression that Brienne recognized—hope, perhaps, that the woman had found a place where she might be respected and allowed to thrive. “It’s nice to meet you, Pia.”

“Is it really true that you’re an architect?” Asked the stewardess. “I wanted to be one when I was a little kid, but, you know how it is—” Pia pressed a finger against her forehead and giggled— “math isn’t my strong suit.”

Brienne was about to answer when Captain Mo cleared his throat behind them. Pia spun around. “Sorry, Captain,” she breathed.

Captain Mo rolled his eyes good naturedly at her and ducked into the cockpit. Pia hurried over to the airplane door and latched it shut. She turned back to Jaime and Brienne and recited a practiced speech about onboard safety procedures. Brienne listened intently to all of Pia’s instructions, which only seemed to bolster the young woman’s confidence.

In truth, Brienne had never flown on a private jet before, and she listened to Pia’s speech out of curiosity as much as a healthy respect for flight safety. She double-checked her seatbelt and glanced at the jet’s door to make sure it was closed.

While she doubted private jets were any safer than commercial ones, she felt curiously relaxed on this flight. After all, she was with Jaime, and it was hard to feel unsafe around a man like Jaime Lannister. She didn’t have to examine her heart very closely anymore to know she’d follow him to the Frozen Shore and back, if he asked.

She watched him out of the corner of her eye as Pia pulled out a small chair next to the cockpit door and fastened her seatbelt. Jaime was staring out the window at the tarmac as the plane pulled away from the Charter and Private Flights Wing. He leaned his chin on his right hand and tugged his seatbelt tighter with his left. After a moment, he let his right hand fall to his lap. The soft light of the cabin caught against the shiny scars on his hand as Jaime brushed his fingers along his thigh and then straightened his shirt collar.

Brienne tilted her head and tried to fight a smile that tugged at her lips. Was he fidgeting?

Jaime took a deep breath and blew the air out loudly. “You’d think a smaller plane would take off faster,” he mused, glancing over at her.

She bumped her shoulder against his. “Are you nervous, Mr. Lannister?”

Jaime frowned, his eyes sparking. Brienne waited for him to take the bait. Finally, he leaned toward her until his breath ghosted across her cheek. “If I say yes, will you hold me close and never let me go?”

Brienne’s mouth went dry. Even after all this time, she wasn’t completely accustomed to the way Jaime made her stomach flip. She didn’t doubt his devotion to her; he’d demonstrated his love enough times that even Brienne—with all her self-doubt and apprehension—believed him when he said he wanted her. His eyes teased her now, but there was passion there, too.

The plane rumbled beneath them and the tarmac flashed in a blur outside the window behind Jaime’s head. Brienne embraced the feeling of sudden weightlessness as the small plane took flight, fear and desire creating a heady mix in her mind. She closed the distance between them.

"Never," she whispered against his lips, and the world fell away.

*

“More champagne, Mr. Lannister? Ms. Tarth?”

Brienne broke away from Jaime’s sinfully warm mouth and looked sheepishly up at Pia. The flight attendant studied a spot over their heads and waggled the champagne bottle in the air. Jaime made a poor attempt to hide his laugh behind one hand.

“No, um, thank you,” huffed Brienne, embarrassed to be caught necking in front of the flight attendant. Pia graced her with another smile and then turned away.

“Pia,” Jaime asked, “why don’t you check on Captain Mo? I’m sure it gets lonely up there in the cockpit.”

Pia looked between Jaime and Brienne and then gave him a large wink. “Of course, sir. I’ll just make myself scarce. If you need anything...”

Brienne was at least gratified to see the girl blush before she hustled to the front of the plane, the champagne bottle still clutched in her hand. Brienne bit her lip and wondered if she should call Pia’s attention to it; alcohol in the cockpit couldn’t be in keeping with regulations.

But then Jaime took her hand in his. He searched her face thoughtfully, his eyes lingering on her raw lips. “You look like you’ve been kissed well, Brienne.”

“So do you,” she replied, noting the dark cast to his eyes.

Jaime preened for a moment. Behind him, Pia pulled the cockpit door shut with an audible click.

“Do you think your father will be ready for us?” Jaime asked.

He looked nervous again, so Brienne leaned in and kissed him. “My father has led men in battle. I’m sure he can handle me bringing my boyfriend home for dinner.”

Jaime frowned. “Yes,” he muttered. “I hate that term, you know. _Boyfriend_. It makes me sound like a green boy—twelve years old and still wearing knee-highs. My father always looked down on the boyfriends Cersei dragged home.”

There was a sharp pang at the mention of Cersei, but it dissipated quickly. She had met Jaime’s step-sister only once, at a family function six-months into their relationship. The woman was beautiful and vicious, like a poisonous snake. Jaime had steered Brienne away from her at the first opportunity. Brienne had been grateful for his chivalrous act until Jaime had confessed to having a past relationship with the woman. Brienne hadn’t been sure what was worse—that Jaime’s ex was his step-sister, or that Jaime’s ex looked like Cersei. It had taken her a long time to decide she didn’t care. 

“I’m sorry,” said Jaime. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Stop,” said Brienne, catching his gaze and holding it. “It’s okay. _I’m okay_. We all have our pasts, Jaime.” She smiled at him ruefully. “As you well know. Besides, you're a good man, and my father likes good men.”

Jaime studied her a moment and then stood up. “Come with me,” he said, tugging on her hand.

Brienne followed him up, keeping her neck hunched to avoid the plush ceiling. “Come with you where? We’re on a tiny airplane.”

He stepped in close enough for her to feel the heat coming off his skin and brushed a kiss along her jaw. “We’re alone,” he whispered against her hair, “on a private jet.” He kissed her again, soft and slow. “And I haven’t given you the full tour yet.”

Brienne allowed him to lead her towards the back of the plane. There wasn’t much to be seen—a pair of seats arranged around a bolted-down table, a long, sleek couch, a small flat-screen television mounted against the wall outside the lavatory.

The lavatory.

She paused and jerked Jaime to a halt. “You can’t be serious.”

He grinned at her. “Oh, I am. We have unfinished business, A.”

Brienne’s traitorous body was already responding to the idea of Jaime pressing her against the wall in the tiny airplane’s bathroom. Surely it would be cleaner than the lavatory on their first flight together. And there was no angry redhead to bang against the door or passengers to mock and stare at them—only Pia, who was safe and sound in the cockpit with Captain Mo. Brienne groaned, horrified that she was even entertaining the thought. 

Jaime watched her thought process like a predator sighting vulnerable prey. His grin deepened. “I promise you won’t regret it, A,” he drawled. “Just think of all those lonely nights ahead, relegated to separate bedrooms while I try to convince your father that I’m worthy of you.”

Brienne laughed, picturing Jaime skulking around the dark, drafty hallways of Evenfall Hall to find her room. Jaime tightened his grip on her hand and yanked her against his chest suddenly. She swallowed thickly as a wave of heat engulfed her, neck to thigh. Gods, perhaps it would be Brienne doing the skulking late at night.

Jaime’s mouth was on hers again, and before she realized it, they stumbled into the small but luxuriously-appointed lavatory. She broke away to study the room. “Is that real marble?” She asked, reaching out to brush her fingertips along the polished countertop.

“Mmmph,” Jaime mumbled against her collarbone, one hand working at the buttons on her blouse. “And just as sturdy, too.”

She gasped as he lifted her up against the counter. “Now please, A,” he growled, “unless you're curious about the finish on the tap, there’s something else I’d like to discuss with you.”

She leaned back against the mirror and Jaime pressed against her. “Oh?” She asked breathlessly, wondering if it was the plane that was shuddering, or if it was just her. “What about the finish on the tap?”

Jaime bit her lip gently as a rumble erupted from his chest. His arm flailed blindly at the door to their right. Brienne slid her hand out of his hair and reached behind him, thanking the gods that they’d blessed her with long limbs and the ability to multitask. Her fingers closed around the small metal handle at the exact moment that Jaime moved a hand in a _very_ interesting direction. She tugged the door shut with a gasp, and the latch snapped into place.

_Occupied._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end.


End file.
